Graceless Heart
by Looni Loopi
Summary: Sirius Black's perspective on how life broke him.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Jokes. They were one of the many things that Sirius lived for - in between his best mates, morning runs and eating until he felt he could burst. Pre-OWL year had taken its toll on the new animagus. Known to much of the school as gossip spread like wildfire, he, Sirius Black, had been 'working'. Books had been open, closed and flung across the common room - much to Remus' distaste - until he had grown decidedly bored and jinxed them to chase first years out the portrait hole. Again, the werewolf had not exactly given Sirius his blessing but he was long past caring, his eyes lingering on a particularly angry boy who appeared to be on the verge of tears.

"Cut it out already," muttered Peter, who was, in Sirius' eyes, very nearly sitting on James. The rat and stag had been attempting to enhance a pack of Exploding Snap, wands out ready, but they hadn't been focussed enough. Sirius rolled his eyes at James who shrugged in return, a wordless statement that he didn't care either way. That if Peter was going to be irritated, that was Peter's problem.

"Come over here instead," Remus said enticingly from his spot by the fire. Surrounded by books and parchment in varying states of scruffiness. Sirius recognised one as the first essay that his friend had scored an O in and felt his lip curl. Last year's Arithmancy - convenient that it was a subject that Remus alone of the four took. Far too much like accounts for Sirius' taste and Mother had put him off numbers for life. Among other things.

He slunk over to Remus, letting the books drop to the floor, and brought his knees up to his chin. "Books. Brilliant, let's all just study until our heads explode. That solves everything." He flopped his head down, deafening himself to his friend's exasperated reply. Drowning it out until he was alone with his thoughts, eyes squinted shut. Bored. At the end of the day, it was always there - that sense of boredom that he could never quite shake off. That this free time would come to an end soon and everything that seemed good would turn sour, just as it always did.

BOOM. The Exploding Snap gave off a puff of smoke and James roared with laughter. "I'm going to bed," growled a voice, James' laughter continuing over the irritation of Peter. Sirius felt the pack of charred cards hit the back of his head and looked up groggily. Remus was staring at him so Sirius pulled a face and stood up. It wasn't as if he needed looking after, he was the oldest and the most handsome. By far.

"Come on Prongs," he said bracingly, all traces of a less than cheerful mood quickly disappearing from his face. Offering his best mate a hand, he hawled him up and began to stride towards the portrait hole. He saw James' wand flicker and grinned as a few dungbombs zoomed towards them from the dormitory, catching them easily.

"I thought you'd forgotten," mused James, his smirk presenting Sirius with a mirror image.

"I don't forget," he said flatly, his smile fading for a moment before it returned with a vengence. "His birthday. I nearly managed to stop myself but-"

"You felt bored," finished James evenly, neither judging nor, to Sirius' confusion, approving. It would serve his little brother right for being a git, speaking to Snivellus and generally not having a brain to think with. Not that pelting him with dungbombs would help him grow a few brain cells but Sirius could always hope. "You've got the cloak, right?" James asked, watching the Fat Lady close behind them.

"We don't need it," Sirius answered hastily and James raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Silent understanding - Sirius felt that he understood James and Peter had dubbed James a _siriologist_. There would probably be a detention or two received before they returned to their beds but that had never stopped them before.

"Black and Potter! Why are you not in your dormitory?" shouted a voice from around the corner. Sirius' eyes rolled and James adjusted his glasses, his smirk widening. Sirius nodded at him, arms folding. _This one's on you._

"That didn't take long," he muttered out of the edge of his mouth before his voice turned loud and overly-friendly. "Aubrey, old chum, how are you?" grinned James as the prefect leapt out in front of the duo, barring their way. "Still a prefect, still got both legs? Good, we'll be off now." Hearing these words, Sirius stared pointedly at the eagle's legs.

"They look more like twigs to me," he interjected. "Maybe he's turning into a bowtruckle." He saw James struggle to disguise a laugh behind his hand and he saw the prefect's face turn slightly pink. His own smirk remained plastered across his face as he looked up to hold gaze with the so-called authority figure. _Do your worst._

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Aubrey snapped, his voice only wavering on one syllable. But it was enough for Sirius who leapt upon the opportunity, not dissimilar to the way Bertram Aubrey had leapt out at them. "Return to your dormitories this instant or the consequences will be worse."

"Well, as nice as that sounds - and it really does - we've got some business to be carrying on with so if you'll excuse me-" James, slightly skinnier of the two, slipped past him with a flourish and grinned from the other side. Sirius attempted to do the same but the older student was not about to be fooled the same way twice and stuck his arm out. Contact.

_"You worthless fool! Shame of my flesh! How _dare_ you?!" Strike across the face and he's reeling backwards, blinking back the tears but they're already falling. He's shame-faced, crying and seven years old, his throat closing up as he struggles to find enough words for an apology. Another strike and he's on the floor, a sob building in the back of his throat at the bitter unfairness of it all._

He lashed out. At first his wand wasn't even drawn as he swung his fists towards the older boy's head. One made contact with his cheek and another hit something harder - a nose, Sirius presumed, but it was hard to tell - before he was wrenched backwards, arms pinned to his sides. Contact, _contact_. He snatched his wand from his pocket and set the first spell he could think of towards the prefect. Then his elbow retreated sharply into his captor's stomach.

Contact. "Sirius, it's me!" came a frantic voice and he was able to hear again. Someone's breathing was ragged and someone else appeared to be very ill. "Calm down before someone hears!" It's James' voice, of course it is, and Sirius stops resisting as the world comes into clarity. Aubrey was ill and his head looked simultaneously hilarious and grotesque. The ragged breathing was his own and his muscles relaxed, knees giving way.

James released him roughly and Sirius staggered to his feet. "Bloody git, why couldn't he just leave us alone?" scowled Sirius, regarding the swollen-headed Aubrey with distaste. Tasting his own voice again on his tongue. "I swear to Merlin, these pref-"

"I'm going to take him to the Hospital Wing," said James quietly. Sirius hadn't even realised that his best friend had moved but he had, helping Aubrey stand up. Sirius gaped as Aubrey accepted his hand before his gaze fell to the floor. "Are you coming or what?"

Sirius shrugged but, when James had turned to leave, he padded along behind them like a reluctant shadow. Close enough to hear what was being said but not to be involved. "Tell no one," James was warning Aubrey, his voice low and urgent.

"If you think I'm keeping this attack to myself, Potter, you're-" But James cut off what Sirius felt would have been a very snooty reply.

"I don't care about that. But if Hogwarts starts claiming that my best mate is some kind of freak, I _will_ find you." Even through the dark, Sirius was sure that he saw the prefect gulp.

His own insides squirmed but he swallowed, turned on his heel and sprinted towards the Slytherin common room. He knew the password, he had the spells - if it was going to be a solo mission, so be it. Sometimes it was better to work alone.


	2. Chapter 1

"Rub this on it," insisted Regulus, his eyes pleading with him more than the tone of voice. Empathy was frowned upon in the Number Twelve and Sirius had a feeling that Regulus was still treading carefully, even though Walburga had been out of the house for nearly half an hour. Regulus pressed a vial into Sirius' hand but Sirius could not bring himself to react. "Take it, it should help with the bruising."

Sirius' hand remained open and unresponsive as the vial toppled, due to the lack of support, and fell to the floor. His ears picked up on the familiar, irritated growl at the back of his brother's throat and then the shuffling footsteps. The closing of his bedroom door. With a swift sweeping motion, Sirius brought all the objects on top of his dresser crashing to the floor: an old, faintly ticking clock; an empty photo frame (its inhabitants had sensed this action coming and fled to the photo of him and his three best friends on the wall); a stolen cigarette lighter; the knife his Uncle Alphard had given him and a half-full glass of pumpkin juice, the Black family crest emblazoned proudly on its side.

Or at least, it had been. Now it was just a few shards of broken glass in his carpet. It wasn't enough for him - there was always a punishment for breaking things and, frankly, it was worth more than just one broken vial. There was no deep breath before the plunge. Motionless for a moment, he let out a low growl of his own before letting go of his restraint. All his books were hurled against the wall, his robes were ripped out of the wardrobe and strewn across the floor. He tore his pillow and overturned his ottoman, smashed an old butterbeer bottle and threw his broomstick servicing kit at the window which cracked with a satisfying crunch.

None of this was fair. He was fifteen - sixteen in November - yet here he was, being cursed as a disobedient child. Which, in all fairness, he was but it was his choice. To call Mother out on her stupidity and Father on his bigotry and Regulus for being dim - he was the only one to see it, to truly understand. None of them had given a damn about the disappearance of Linda MacDonald, nor the attack on Charlus'- Mr Potter's - office nor the resignation of Gertrude Simmons. Outwardly he hadn't either - the first because Mary had been in tears and there was no way that he would be going near that, the second because James sounded as if he would tear out the beating heart of anyone who mentioned it and the third because it did not involve him in any tangible way. But he did. Sirius was not going to be as heartless as the rest of them, not if he could help it.

One thing that did concern him was the way that they had been reported. He fished for the Prophet articles under his bed and scanned through them again, as if the words would have changed since he had last looked. Linda's came from the beginning of the Summer - he'd received it on the second morning of the holidays. Which he'd thought of as stupid because it had been public knowledge from the beginning of July. Amethyst Mulciber had written a barely disguised piece on her mistrust of muggleborns and mentioned Mary's mother at the very end, summarising that muggleborns who married muggles deserved to leave the magical world. Hinting about some terrorist group and how the community should inform the MLE if they noticed any suspicious behaviour.

The job of James' father had always confused Sirius. Sometimes it sounded as if Charlus was one down from the Minister for Magic himself but as of late, it appeared that even Mr Potter was under strain from his superiors. There was definitely more than one. The day after Mulciber's biased report was released, there was a large spread all across the front page. A picture of Mr Potter shaking hands with the disgraced Goblin Liason officer, one of James and Dorea, another of Mr Potter closing his office door and finally, one of James punching a reporter in the face (captioned: _Like father like son? James Harold Potter, 15, is known at Hogwarts for his fierce tempramentality and disregard for order_). Whether or not 'tempramentality' was a word remained to be seen.

Although that photograph made Sirius laugh, there was nothing humerous about the article. It outlined every mistake Mr Potter had made in his career and blatantly skipped out the highlights - such as the defeat of the dementor rebellion of 1958 and the management of Nurmengard when a group of radicalists attempted to raise it to the ground. They'd mentioned some of his attempts to get muggleborns into the Ministry of Magic but they'd labelled it as _terrorist actio_n and _aiding like-minded troublemakers in their mischief_.

Then Mr Potter's office had been broken into and vandalised but none of that had been spoken about in the paper. Judging from the snippets he'd heard from James, they'd destroyed everything. Months of investigation notes, furniture reduced to dust, threatening messages inked into the walls. The blood that had seeped into the carpet wasn't dragon's, he'd been told. It was sickening, if that sort of thing made Sirius feel ill, and he knew that things would be tense in the Potter household.

In a different manner to the tension here. There, he could see Mrs Potter baking early each morning - unable to sleep in for worry - and Mr Potter being slightly faster with his banterous comebacks - on edge and used to being attacked - and his best mate, well, angry. The bespectacled teen would be in a rage, vowing to punch and hex any more reporters that came knocking. Disagreeing aggressively with his well-meaning parents, demanding to know why they weren't doing more, maybe even being careless with his words. An irritated phrase turned into an insult that Mrs Potter took the wrong way and there'd be a short argument.

The difference was that Mrs Potter would probably wrap James in a warm hug afterwards and there'd be no blows or hexes exchanged. Should Sirius argue in that way with his parents, he'd be hurt from now until September. So he remained upstairs in his room with his breakable things and sulked. Cursed his parents, ignored his brother, stared longingly at his pictures. September couldn't come soon enough.

Sirius stepped through his wreck of a room, careful not to let his skin touch any of the broken glass. His mother wasn't home yet and for that, he was glad. Reaching for a coat, he pulled it on over his clothes and shut the door behind him with a faint scratching sound. Regulus' eyes were on him as he crept across the landing and Sirius stuck up his middle finger, pleased with the wholly _muggle_ obscenity. Regulus' door shut loudly and the older brother made his escape, positioning himself on the banister and slipping down, a childish grin on his face.

Reaching the bottom floor, he unbolted the front door and let his hand rest on the handle for a moment. Freedom was on the other side, until he had to come back. A few hours of peace would be all he could snatch - and they'd probably reinforce the magical wards to prevent him from leaving again - but it would be worth it. It always was. Shoving the door with his shoulder, it opened obligingly and the young wizard stepped out into the street.

A few of the muggles gave him odd looks but Sirius paid them no attention, taking deep breaths and savouring the smell of the air. The London streets weren't the safest but, frankly, he was looking for a battle. Out for blood. Let them come with their drunkards and their out-to-impress-the-girlfriends, he'd beat the hell out of any of them. All of them. One on one, of course, if they were fighting properly. But he had moves if there were more - and his wand was safe at home so there were no temptations to bend magical law.

But he didn't find a release for his aggression, sidling through the backstreets. A waitress-type woman with blurred make-up that winked at him, a few mangy cats fighting over a skeleton, some fat old bloke with a packet of cigarettes and a man, barely older than Sirius, with pupils as large as butterbeer bottles. Nothing even remotely violent that he could get stuck into.

By this time he had found himself in one of the outskirt towns. A shonky area with a variety of pubs - Sirius knew the ones that weren't too fussy about age and the one that had caught him before and threatened to call his parents (which had made his barking laugh carry him all the way down to their puny police station before Orion had gotten involved and all laughs stopped together). There was the tattoo parlour where Sirius had had his ear pierced numerous times until his mother had threatened to remove both of Regulus' ears if he tried again. Next to that a pharmacy and then a clothes shop that sold cheap, flimsy goods. He'd bought a Queen t-shirt from there, age twelve, and returned for all his casual muggle-wear.

However it was the latest addition that had caught his eye and Sirius was drawn to it, intrigued. A mechanic. It wasn't fancy enough to look out of place but it didn't look run-down, either, which was surprising in itself. A brand new Jaguar XJS stood side by side with an old Corvette that looked as if a strong wind would blow it over. "Nah, mate, no one in their right mind would buy that," a voice was saying, apologetic yet slightly annoyed. "'Specially if you're trying to sell it for that much - you can get decent new gear for that much."

There were two men standing near the side, a motorbike leaning against the wall behind them. Sirius couldn't quite see it from where he was so he took a few steps closer, watching with interest. "You've got to - just give it a lick of paint, no one will know the difference. And I need to get rid of it - the girlfriend says she'll let me into her p-" The mechanic cleared his throat as the muggle's face reddened. "But I need enough to buy her the ring. You've gotta do something."

"No one in their right mind," repeated the mechanic, looking sympathetic. Sirius sensed that this was his cue, making up his mind at that moment. He'd help his poor sod get laid, annoy his parents and get a motorbike out of it. There was no losing in this situation.

"How much do you want for that?" he asked casually, a light smirk on his face. He always had muggle money - far too easy to come by for him - and he hadn't even had to steal any of it. The mechanic looked skeptical but the other man's face exclaimed that Christmas had come early.

"A thousand pounds-" he started, eyes shining like fresh galleons as Sirius rummaged into his pockets. He could see the bike now and it was a work of art, sparkling in the dim light of the streetlamps. There was no way that he couldn't have it now.

"Don't waste your money, son," advised the mechanic, earning him a glare from the seller before he stepped in front of the mechanic hastily. Sirius didn't consider it wasted but if the pair were going to fight, Sirius certainly wasn't going to stop them. Far from it.

"I'll take it," he nodded, counting out £50 notes carefully. He bike's old owner's eyes popped out of his skull and the mechanic regard him quizzically, rather bemused. Handing the money to the bloke, Sirius stepped out to run his hand along the framework. Art at its finest.

"Thanks boy," grinned the man before walking away quickly, as if Sirius would change his mind. As if. The mechanic continued to look bemused as Sirius fondled the motorbike.

"That's junk," stated the mechanic flatly and Sirius ignored him, convinced that he'd never seen anything quite as perfect in his life. There was a pause. "If you have any more of that magic money of yours, twenty quid will get it serviced into half-decent working order. Fifty will get you a paintjob to be proud of and get the speed right up."

The wizard's ears pricked at the word speed and he looked away from his latest possession. "I have fifty quid," he answered, trying to sound casual. "If you can do it fast, I'll double it."

There was a roar of the engine as Sirius pulled up outside number twelve, stinking of grease with a thin layer of oil coating his skin. But she was ready, his pride and joy - christened _Black Gasm_ after a few trial names. Naturally, they'd painted it blue but the ride was _smooth_. Smooth enough to have sex on, Mark had told him, if he was into that kind of thing. The wizard had laughed and said possibly as it depended on who was asking.

It was late now. It had been early evening when Sirius had finally knuckled down and stopped admiring his bike enough to help but the task hadn't been quick. He'd spent a fair amount of cash, too, but he stuck by his earlier thought: none of it was wasted. _Black Gasm_ was perfect in conceivable way and he couldn't wait to tell James. To show off his new toy.

Cutting the power, he wheeled it up to the front door and pulled it over the threshold where he was greeted with a (not unexpected) loud shriek. "WHAT IS THAT MONSTROSITY?" she yelled, wand pointed, eyes rolling, shaking with rage. Sirius sensed what was coming before she did it and spread out his body, attempting to shield the bike from harm.

The hex hit him full on, blasting his body against the wall. He saw stars, head spinning, and he wasn't aware that he'd started yelling. His legs weren't letting him pick himself up and he could only feel tingles - nothing was moving, he was stuck. Trapped in his own body. She must have cast it to prevent him from getting in the way again but he was still awake, he could see what she did next. How she relished in the agony on his face and how she enjoyed destroying him.

She dragged it out, blowing it apart piece by piece. The handles, the cylinders, the engine - everything. Sirius' yells intensified and he felt Regulus' eyes on him but he didn't care. He screamed at her; to stop, how wrong this was, his hatred for her, his hatred for all of them, how he'd kill her-

Something hot slashed at his face and he could move again, shaking with held back sobs. "Maybe next time you'll think before you disobey me," she hissed as the gash on his face trickled with blood. Then she turned on her heel and returned to the dining room, chatting away to Orion as if she had only been out for a minute rather than however long it had taken for her to torture her son. Sirius felt as if it had been years as he clutched at the pieces, holding them tightly like a child with a soft toy.

Then he grovelled across the floor, gathering all the chunks of his broken bike and scooping them up in his arms. The young wizard hadn't seen Regulus appear next to him, pale as a sheet but unharmed. Not a scratch, never as much as a parchment cut. "An owl arrived for you when you were out," he said softly, picking up the headlight and starting to walk upstairs. Sirius shrugged, still too stunned over the remnants of his bike to care.

He'd grown attached to something and it had been snatched from him. And not for the last time.


End file.
